Page 52 of Body Check

His hands skate over my body, playing with my nipples, brushing my clit, fisting my ass. He doesn’t stop touching me, his reverence sending butterflies fluttering in my belly.

“I—”

I don’t know what to say. I have no words. They’re all gone. Poof. He’s stolen my ability for rational thought, and I’m not even upset about it.

My hands move from his shoulders to his chest, down the ladder of his abs, and further to where we’re connected. As my fingers brush my clit and the base of his shaft, he stiffens, and I can’t hide my pleased smile.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he says, nudging my hand away.

And then he touches me, his thumb moving in determined circles around my clit. I’m teetering on the edge, every fiber of my being stretched tight, like an elastic at its limit.

Pulling him onto me, his chest hair brushing my breasts, his hand trapped between our bodies, I finally snap.

“Jason,” I gasp, and he lets out a growl of satisfaction that rumbles through me.

I unravel in his arms, and he fucks me through it, his steady strokes faltering. It’s not until I collapse back against the pillows that he takes his own pleasure, fucking me so hard the headboard rattles against the wall.

“Come for me.” I run my hand through his hair, and when I cup his cheek, he presses it into my palm.

Two thrusts later, his entire body tenses, the veins in his neck raised in stark relief. His cock jerks inside of me, emptying into the condom.

Pulling out and still breathing hard, he collapses beside me, his hand reaching out to thread his fingers through mine.

“That was…” I have no words.

“Yeah.”

We lay there in silence for a moment, the only sound in the room our ragged breathing.

After a few minutes, he rolls out of bed. I turn my head to watch as he pads to the bathroom, dealing with the condom and cleaning up. Even though I need to get up, I need to go home, I’m not ready for this to be over.

Jason returns with a wet washcloth, steam rising from the terrycloth. My stomach clenches at the idea he warmed it up for me, rather than running the cold tap. I go to take it, but he shakes his head, taking care to clean me up before tossing the washcloth onto the nightstand.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, pulling me into his arms.

“I should go home.”

“Okay,” he says, tightening his arms around me. “Just not yet.”